Report from January 25, 2025

We finally gathered the courage to go deep into the alpine in British Columbia yesterday.

I don’t generally dare to fly there in January because there are usually persistent weak layer issues this time of year.

Right now, the snowpack is pretty locked up.

Eagle Chute on 9,337′ Eagle Peak called to us.

So we walked.

And walked.

A sun pillar followed us and dazzled us all day.

Aaron put thousands of vertical feet of skintrack in, and I could not have climbed and skied this chute without him.

It took 5 hours to gain the top of the chute.

We started in the shade in 10ºF temps.

It stayed cold and shady almost all the way to the top.

Once we breached into sunlit territory, an inversion slapped us in the face.

I had some of the coldest moments of my life hiking up then suddenly, we were almost down to baselayers.

Sliding on snow after sunset. image: snowbrains

Not a great sign for the snowpack.

The fear I felt on top of the chute was real and true.

I sat down, closed my eyes, breathed deep, and meditated for a few minutes.

It worked.

I opened my eyes with newfound perspective, a lower heart rate, less cortisol, and more clarity.

My fear was mostly focused on one thing:

If this upper bowl rips out, we are lost.

The question was:

What is the probability the bowl will avalanche?

The answer required thought and investigation.

I dug a pit and agreed with the current Avalanche Canada forecast that the persistent weak layer wasn’t reactive.

The warm temps (felt around freezing which is damn warm here now) were a red flag.

I ski cut a steep, convex piece of the bowl and the only thing that moved was a 2″ new snow layer and it rumbled clumsily down slowly.

My anxiety dropped to a cool, calm, back of mind buzz that was easily superseded.

Aaron and I discussed everything and wound up on the same page.

Let’s ski the damn thing…

I dropped first and the upper bowl felt endless.

22 turns.

5 turns into the chute I saw that recent sun-triggered sluffs off the western walls had dropped snow through the choke of the chute dredging down to the rocks in the narrowest, steepest part of the chute.

I hacked my way down through rotten snow and rock.

7 ugly turns.

24 glorious turns in soft sluff debris and pure powder.

Even a mini pillow air.

Relief and joy overwhelmed me as I breathlessly called Aaron on the radio to let him know I was safe and deliver a snow report.

Aaron isn’t phased by steep skinning. image: snowbrains

He shredded it and we freaked out together at the bottom standing on a pillow both in disbelief.

I was knackered.

We skied to a safe spot and watched the sun knock gorgeous waterfall avalanches off the northern walls as I ate the last of my food and quaffed the dregs of my water.

Leki Patrol 3D glove for the win. image: snowbrains

There were 2 options from there ski downhill through some heinous snow to the car or climb another 1,000+ feet and ski a great powder run to the car.

Aaron was driving for the later.

All Aaron has done on this trip is make good calls and break trail.

Aaron going HAM at the end of a long day. image: snowbrains

I fell in line and followed him uphill once again despite exhaustion and lack of food and drink.

At some point he realized how slow I was moving and fed me some wine gummies and shared his small stash of water.

The gummies helped immensely.

Bitter cold returned at these lower altitudes and the sun was slowly kissing the mountainsides across the valley.

We crested the final ridge just as the last essence of penumbra slithered off the Earth.

Distance clouds reflected oranges and pinks into our pupils and filled us with energy.

Alpine fog, sun, and sun pillar. image: snowbrains

We dropped in happy with open hearts embracing the unknown of the run below.

We’d pushed the boundaries of the descent route assuming we’d get ourselves into trouble but we didn’t care.

The skiing was too good.

Pillows and dongers and very deep, untouched powder in rolling tree hallways called us in like sirens.

Our resistance to these calls was futile.

We bopped and jumped, hooted and exclaimed carelessly.

The underlying darkness turned to pure light when we escaped the forest unscathed into terra cognita.

5,500-vertical-feet
9.8-miles
8 hours & 11 minutes

The only appropriate way to digest the day’s events was to slam ourselves into a packed “Village Idiot” while wolfing-down nachos and burgers and multiple liters of water.

Thanks, BC!